Memento
by sailorbutts
Summary: In which a nosy witch scours an irritable youkai's house for some clue as to who she is, and all is well that ends well. Kind of cracky/fluffy/pointless MariAli one-shot. T only for implications.


**A/N: **I've realised as of late that most everything I write is quite depressing, and so I decided to give that a fix. I've not really been feeling much in the way of inspiration lately, so this was just something that happened out of my fingertips while trying to break free of writer's block; a super cheesy, fluffy, nonsensical and pointless little MariAli oneshot. If it doesn't make sense, don't worry, but I at least hope I managed to put a cheesy smile on your face! Enjoy! (And ignore the cracky ending) :D

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><p><strong>Memento –<strong>

Marisa had never been the type to have 'always wondered' about something. If so much as the tiniest thought ever crossed her mind, the most wild and absurd of fancies, she would inquire after it so quickly and so spontaneously and so thoughtlessly one could never be sure what to think of it.

Such was the case that evening within the cosy cottage residence of a certain irritable Alice Margatroid.

Usually, Alice would have valiantly thrown every attempt to be left alone at the black-white witch, but that night it was dark and cold, and it would have been just as dark and cold not to let the shivering other in to warm her hands up by the fire and have a cup of tea, after having braved both such horrid conditions to do exactly that with her youkai friend. As it were, seeing someone like that hit a disagreeably soft spot in her chest, and she had absolutely no _choice _but to welcome them and avoid any sort of guilt that could have haunted her had she not done so. Albeit a little grudgingly, then, so as to cancel out the goodness of the deed she was doing, the puppeteer let Marisa into her home for the night (at the declaration of which Marisa had squealed in an unusually girlish and thankful way, and had crushed Alice, who had certainly _not _blushed, in her arms) and tolerated as well as she could as the dirty blonde began asking her excruciating questions.

'Hey, Alice?'

'Yes,' came a ginger grumble of a response.

'Don't you think it's odd that we've both lived in the Forest of Magic so long and never met each other before?'

'No,' came another, hasty, but no less dismissive answer, 'I don't think it odd at all.'

'But no one else lives here, ze,' Marisa insisted, 'It doesn't make sense that we haven't known each other for much longer!'

Alice shifted her gaze over to her interrogator, and sighed resignedly.

'If you really must know, I haven't lived here that long at all. I must have built this house not five years ago.'

'Oh?' Marisa seemed oddly surprised by this prospect. Alice frowned – did she really seem so much like she'd been a shut-in for a hundred years? She hadn't, not for quite _that_ long. The witch lay down her teacup ungracefully upon the table before her, and got to her feet, edging closer. Alice began to feel uncomfortable. 'Then where _are_ you from?'

'My business,' she muttered, turning back in a way that asserted quite bluntly the conversation was _over_, back to her book, 'not yours.'

Alas, Marisa wasn't one to mind other people's feelings. She huffed childishly at first, but remained silent – Alice knew it was too good to be true, though, and quite rightly, as she suddenly began to walk across every inch of the house quickly, knowing the doll maker would never comply and forensically sniffing out a clue as to the mistress of the cottage's past. Though perhaps a little nervous and fidgety at this, Alice allowed Marisa the freedom to do so. She didn't think there was anything anywhere in the place that would let it out – she was sure she had destroyed every trace.

Yes, she assured herself, quite sure.

With each minute the time seemed to pass more achingly slow. Again, Alice would have usually thanked any gods there were that she didn't believe in for the lovely peace and quiet, but the possibility that Marisa could recognise her if she found anything that alluded even relatively to her previous estate nagged at the back of her mind, and wouldn't let her have even that. Thus, being hot tempered and, when it came to Marisa, quite weak of will, she gave in quickly, and resolved to find the damned witch and tell her to stop her nonsensical endeavours at once.

Unfortunately the latter was one step ahead of her.

As Alice bounced to her feet and spun around to storm off and let the witch know what her fist tasted like, she was met by the uncharacteristically solemn face of the same witch, who swiftly and with a forcefulness about her the more docile other couldn't seem to oppose, reached for her head. Alice flinched, but dared not resist as her red headband fell to the floor – only to be replaced by the pretty royal blue ribbon a little human girl had once worn in her place.

Marisa's hand lingered, and as Alice reached up to absently brush her fingers over the thing, they touched, and all thoughts of the black-white's bloody death left her.

'I didn't know I still had this,' Alice murmured. A soft, wistful tune began to play in her mind as she said so; a somehow melancholic song, with still something about it that said that children had once played where it had – children both real and wooden alike.

'I guess you were too sentimental to throw it away,' Marisa said.

At last, she took a blushing Alice's face into her hands, and began to grin again. The puppeteer felt relief, worry, and total annoyance wash over her all at once at this – _what's up with that? Stupid witch and her stupid mood swings._ 'But I can't believe it's really you, ze! You, all trying to impress me with your grimoire back then, and now look, you're more powerful than I could have possibly imagined!' she gave a chuckle, and looked up a little, huffing, 'Damn, you're taller than me too, now!'

And indeed, Alice took notice, even though the human of the pair always acted so very dominating, the other had to look _down_ ever so slightly to meet her gaze. The hat, she pondered, must have kept her from noticing the whole time. She grumbled something vague under her breath in response, refusing to meet Marisa's eyes.

'Oh, come on, now,' Marisa whined. The hand that had previously been on Alice's head had snuck down to her cheek by now, and a swift but slight movement had their noses touching. 'Look here.'

Gingerly, Alice obeyed. She was thankful though, and a little surprised that she had when she saw that flash of sincere, excruciating apology in the other girl's usually bright and burning amber eyes – she understood that Marisa understood how she had turned into what she was.

'I'm sorry. No more talk of the past, 'kay?'

Alice snorted. 'That was exactly what I was thinking. Idiot.'

And Marisa knew that all was well between them, and laughed heartily. 'Oh my, you look so cute in that ribbon, ze! If only I could see you in that pretty little dress again, too...'

'S-shut up!' Alice, who had very cleverly snaked her arms around Marisa's waist and was thusly fiddling with the hem of her apron distractedly, snapped, 'Are you telling me you dislike my current attire? It's _far_ more flattering than what you're wearing, I assure you. At least I've washed it!'

'Oh dear! Aren't we rude? I have _totally _washed this, ze.'

'Oh, please. What's this stain all about then? It's been there for three months now.'

'I –' Marisa found herself, for quite the first time in her life, unable to muster up a witty comeback within five seconds of an accusation made against her. She could practically hear her glorious record shattering into a thousand pieces. Finally, she blurted, 'My clothes are totally sexy, ze. It isn't my fault you can't see so.'

'Isn't it?'

'It isn't. See... they'd look much sexier on your floor.'

And with a kiss, she proceeded to prove exactly that.


End file.
